Slender
by Gemini Star01
Summary: A gradual de-anon from the Kink Meme. America travels to the Canadian wilderness to film a nature documentary, only to come face-to-face with a monsterous creature known only as the Slenderman...
1. 1

Another gradual de-anon from the kink meme for me. This time I'm doing something a little unusual, putting up three or four parts of the story at once, so that this'll only be about four sections long instead of 12 like it was on the meme.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Slender Man mythos, I recommend TV Tropes and the YouTube channel "MarbleHornets" as a way to look into this interesting phenomenon. General warning, the Marble Hornets videos in particular are considered quite frightening by some and this is, generally speaking, a horror story, so be prepared to be frightened.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, nor the Slender Man mythos. I am also not responsible for any loss of sleep that results from reading this fic.

**Slender**

**Prologue: Origins**

_He_ began with a story. _His_ kind always did.

When Alfred had been very small, too small to even roam his own lands, someone – he didn't remember who, only that her voice was both familiar and warm – had warned him of the power in stories. She said that the creatures who stalked their woods and nightmares, who preyed upon their people and felled even the fiercest of warriors, once existed only within the minds of men. Skinwalkers, Wendigo, the snake men of the sky, all were born this way, capturing imagination until they could steal an existence for themselves. This, she warned, was why storytelling was as much a responsibility as a form of entertainment.

Arthur was never so cautious. He told stories on a whim, when Alfred was bored or anxious or about to go to sleep. Alfred was young then, though not as young as he had been, and he loved Arthur's stories, but the frequency and carelessness frightened him.

Arthur was quick to dismiss such notions whenever they arose. Creatures created stories, he said, not the other way around. Simply talking about an imaginary thing would not make it reality, no matter how fiercely the teller believed. Such worries were nothing but a silly native superstition.

He said this so often – even consulting the answer with his own mysterious fairies, who were supposedly bound to their ancient Old World homes – that Alfred began to believe him. In time, he forgot.

It would be many centuries before he knew the power of stories again; but by that time, it was already too late.

_He_ had come into the world.

**Part One: Arrival**

For Alfred, the story began with a movie, a forest and his least-favorite time of the year.

The forest was lush and evergreen despite the thick layer of snow, as could be expected from the Great White North itself. It was a lovely sight, but when he arrived Alfred could admire it for a moment before an icy wind chilled him right to the bone.

"Ah, dammit!" he moaned, wringing his mitten-clad hands. "Why is it always so cold here?"

Matthew rolled his eyes as he hoisted open the trunk of their suburban. "It isn't that bad."

"Oh sure, you can say that."

"Well you were the one who wanted to come here in the first place.

Alfred huffed, but didn't try to deny what he knew to be true. He shifted the leather satchel at his side and unveiled an expensive, high-end digital video camera – his latest of many. Matthew was one of the few people familiar with Alfred's personal investments in the film world, and the only one besides Eduard – Alfred's trusted technical editor – who knew that car chases and explosions were not the only sort of cinema to catch his eye.

In truth, Alfred had a soft spot for nature documentaries and had even won an award, under a pseudonym, for an artistic piece on one of his deserts, blossoming after a rare storm. The dreadful winter months had inspired him to film the emergence of spring. Calling in a favor from his twin brought them here.

Alfred booted up the camera, checked that its memory and back-up cards were in place (they were) and turned its lens on the forest. What he saw there, once the focus was set, brought a smile to his face. "This place is gorgeous, Mattie."

"Figured you'd like it. There hasn't been any logging or hunting up here for ages, especially not so close to the border and that national park of yours."

Alfred nodded absently, taking a panning shot of the tree line. There were only a few bare shrubs here around the cabin, but out there, life was sleeping beneath the cold blanket of winter. There was only a few more weeks left to that dreadful time. Soon, it would all be waking up…

He stopped. There was something off with the video.

"Hey, Mattie?" he called to his brother. "I thought you said there wasn't another cabin for miles up here."

"There's not."

"Then who's that?"

Matthew let the suitcase he dragged from the car thump against the ground and turned to where his brother was pointing. He frowned. "Who's who? There's nobody there."

Alfred blinked, looked over the camera and checked again. He could have sworn that he'd seen a tall man in a black suit standing among the trees, watching them. But now, he zoomed in and out of the spot and only saw the scraggily trunks.

"Ah…never mind. Must have been a trick of the light."

"Must have. Help me get the luggage in, we have to air out the cabin. You can play with your camera later."

Alfred pouted. "It's not playing."

"Filming then. Come on."

With a shrug, Alfred took one last panning shot of the tree line and booted down the camera. On the edge of his vision, he thought he saw something move; but when he looked there was nothing there. Must have been a trick of the wind.

**Part Two: Watcher**

Well after the sun went down, Alfred sat at the kitchen table, scowling at his laptop. It just didn't make any sense.

_"This place is gorgeous, Mattie."_

"Figured you'd like it. There hasn't been an– screeeeeeeechpoppapoppabrrscreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech." 

Every time he played back that afternoon's video clip, it was always the same thing. The picture leapt about, jerking and discoloring from frame to frame, and the sound dissolved into inexplicable distortion. There was no possible reason for it. Matthew's cabin had its own generator, since the power lines didn't run out this far, but they hadn't even opened the door when he'd taken this shot, let alone turn the thing on, so it couldn't have been electrical interference. And it couldn't be that something was broken, because it picked up again as normal just as Mattie started to talk about bringing the luggage in. It was bizarre.

Alfred frowned at the frozen frame, trying to see the trees through the distortion and color. It was no use. The whole segment was a loss.

Matthew stuck his head over the banister and frowned at his brother. "Hey Al. Are you coming to bed or not?"

"Yeah, sorry Mattie," Alfred said sheepishly, erasing the memory card and all its ruined footage. "I'll be right there."

He whipped the card clean, booted down his laptop and carried the camera upstairs to his room, where the charger was waiting. Matthew leaned against the door of his own room across the hall, holding Kumajiro like a doll. "I'm going to have to go into town tomorrow. We only brought enough food for tonight, so we'll need to stock up."

"Fine by me. Do you mind if I stay here?" Alfred brandished the lifeless camera with a grin. "I'd like to start filming for real as soon as I can."

Matthew shrugged, digging into his pocket. "Sure. Just don't wander off too far, the doors only open if you have the key."

He tossed said key, heavy and iron, to Alfred with an underhand lob. Alfred caught it one-handed. "Even when you're leaving the place?"

"Yup."

"That's a little twisted, Matt."

"It's an old house. That's the best security system I could afford back then."

Alfred chuckled, pocked the key and wished his brother goodnight. Each retired to their own rooms, changed into their nightclothes and turned out the lights. As they drifted to sleep, a cool silence fell across the cabin, only the wind to be heard for miles around.

For about an hour or so, there was peace. Then, something scraped across Alfred's window.

The sound was soft, a squeal in the night, but it was so close that it startled his from his dreams. Alfred blinked into the dark, decided he was imagining things and rolled over. Through the thick glass, he could see only the moon, fuzzy around the edges without Texas to bring his vision into focus. He watched for a moment, then let his eyes close again and drifted back to sleep.

It came again, high and keening, like a nail against the glass. Alfred opened his eyes and spotted a dark figure, blocking out the moon.

He jumped and scrambled for his glasses. The moon immediately came into focus, but nothing else – there was nothing there.

Alfred got out of bed and went to the window. It was a single pain that did not open, welded shut after a clumsy repair job generations ago. Though the moon was bright and full in the sky. Alfred could not see the ground as more than a grey blur. The nearest tree was almost thirty feet away.

Alfred frowned, an uncomfortable squirm rising in his stomach. He was certain that he'd heard something, and he couldn't figure out what, but he had a hunch of how to find out.

He set up his camera and went back to an uncomfortable, restless sleep.

( - )

First thing the next morning, Alfred took his camera downstairs and checked the footage. He hadn't heard the scraping again during the night, but he couldn't shake the anxiety that kept him lying awake. The lack of sleep was grating on his already frazzled nerves.

Loading the footage seemed to take forever. Once that was finally done, it took another age to fast-forward through hours of him not-sleeping without event.

Suddenly, the image jumped.

Alfred rewound and played the video again, this time at normal speed. The time stamp read 2:37 am. From then until 2:39, everything was normal.

Then the sound began again.

_Screeeeeeechpappapoppapoppabrrrrweeeeeescreeeeeeeeeeech._

The video leapt and twisted like a roller coaster car. Its frames were pulled and stretched, distorting the color before suddenly setting, for a split moment, on the normal scene. The sound distortion continued.

There was someone in the window.

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. He paused the video on that frame and triple-checked his eyes. There was a man in a suit standing at his second-story window. And Alfred couldn't see his face.

_**TBC…**_


	2. 2

_**Disclaimer: **__I still do not own, but I still enjoy._

**Slender**

**Part Three: Photoshop**

Alfred raked a hand across his eyes and looked again. The man was still there, angled in the window pane in such a way that the moonlight's glare masked his face. This was crazy. This was impossible. This was…

_SLAM!_

Alfred jumped, nearly tipping over his chair. A second later, his brother called from the second floor. "Alfred?"

Alfred swallowed and took a deep breath to calm his raging heart. "D-Down here, Mattie."

Matthew came down the stairs, with Kumajiro dangling from his neck. He raised an eyebrow in his brother's direction. "You okay, Al? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Alfred would have laughed, if his throat wasn't closing in on itself. Wordlessly, he beckoned Matthew over and turned the laptop where he could see.

"What's this?" Matthew leaned down for a closer look. "Photoshop?"

Alfred shook his head. "It's video. I took this last night."

"Eh?" Matthew peered closer, frowned and straightened. "Very funny, Al. You almost had me going."

"This isn't a joke!"

Matthew sighed and Alfred caught a flash of resignation in his features – he'd decided to humor his twin. "Then maybe it's a trick of the light, eh? Or your frames got mashed together or something."

"That doesn't happen with digital video."

"Then what's this?" Matthew pointed to the tracking distortion on the edge of the picture.

Alfred pouted. "The video was…corrupted somehow. Screwing up."

"So that's your answer." Matthew said, sounding rather pleased with himself. He trotted into the front hall for his keys and shoes, calling back as he did. "I'm heading out. You still want to stay here?"

Alfred frowned at the picture nonetheless and said, "Yeah."

"Okay. It's a long drive, so I won't be back until late. Anything in particular you want?"

"Burgers," Alfred said and saved a screenshot of his bizarre visitor.

"Of course." Matthew rolled his eyes. "I'll see what I can do. Take care of yourself, eh?"

"Okay."

Matthew stood in the entry hall, holding Kumajiro and staring at his brother's back. After five minutes of not moving, he cleared his throat. Al glanced back. "What?"

"You gotta let me out, Al."

"Oh. Sorry."

Alfred stood and went to open the door, holding it open for his brother. Matthew paused in the doorway. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Alfred sighed, and smiled. "I'm cool Matt, no worries. Watch out for ice."

"Please," Matthew snorted. "I've been doing this since before there were cars."

Alfred laughed and waited until Matthew had climbed into the car to shut the door. He went back to his laptop and found that his satellite router had finally gone through. It was an ancient thing and slow as a snail race the length of the Kentucky Derby, but it was the only way to get the internet out here. Alfred navigated his way through some painfully slow-loading websites and posted the photo on a couple of paranormal threads before he lost the connection again. With his question thrown to the digital sea and the silence of the cabin closing in, he packed up his camera and headed into the woods to begin his documentary proper.

**Part Four: Rabbits**

"So, that's where I'm picking up, I suppose," Alfred sighed into the microphone, ignoring his own footsteps crunching over the snow and ice. "Now that I'm out here, though, I think Mattie's right – I must have been imagining things. It's way too pretty out here for there to be any scary stuff hiding out."

He chuckled to himself and adjusted the equipment satchel around his shoulders. Being out of the house and in the fresh air was doing wonders for him, and he could feel the spring returning to his step. The building excitement only grew when he spotted a series of familiar indents in the snow: rabbit tracks.

Alfred loved rabbits. As a child, they'd been his best friends and, when the technology caught up with him, his favorite documentary subjects. He drew a zoom lens from his satchel, screwed it into place and followed the tracks until he found the rabbit borough. He crouched in the snow, focused on the earthy hole, and called for the rabbits with a series of clicks.

After a moment of silence – such a long moment that he wondered if the creatures might still be hibernating – a little pink nose poked from the shadows. It was soon followed by a large, brown-furred rabbit with black tipped ears. It was only the first of four full-grown rabbits who crawled from the nest.

Alfred held his breath. It was hard not to ruin the scene. They were just so cute.

Eventually, despite his best efforts, the rabbits spotted him anyway and leapt to his side with the chattering familiarity of old friends. Black-tipped ears sat on Alfred's knee, while the others rubbed against him from all sides. Alfred chuckled, set his camera on a dry stone and stroked the creature's soft fur. "Auw, you guys are friendly things, aren't you? Figures you would be, you're Canadian, after all.."

Black-tipped ears sniffed his hand curiously before hopping off in search of food. Alfred breathed a content sigh and lay back, ignoring the cold in favor of indulging the presence of such familiar nature. The wind moaned, the trees rustled and everything was peaceful.

Then, a resounding crack rang through the air.

Instantly, the rabbits scurried away, diving back into the safety of their hole. Alfred rolled to his hands a knees, snatched his camera and searched for the source of the noise.

He didn't find it, but he did find the rabbit with the black-tipped ears, lying dead in the snow.

Alfred's heart broke. _The poor little thing…_

Crack.

Alfred whirled around, the lens tumbling from his camera. He saw nothing. There was no movement anywhere around him, not even a shadow's twitch. But the rabbit was dead, the air was dry and he could hear his own heartbeat.

It was too much.

He ran.

**Part Five: Stories**

Alfred reached the cabin in seconds flat, fumbling with the key for a few heart-pounding moments before the door was finally open. He leapt through, slammed it shut behind him and collapsed, his legs unable to support him now that they were reduced to jelly. He lay back against the doo and tried, with some success, to catch his breath.

It was only after his heart stopped pounding in his brain that he realized two very important details: one, that he did not hear anything perusing him, and two, that he had left the zoom lens behind.

Alfred cursed and thumped his head against the door. That piece was expensive, dammit, and with the economy as tight as it was, he might not be able to afford a new one for a long time. He would have to go back and get it, but first…first, he need to know what he was dealing with.

He rose, unsteady on trembling legs, and made his way to the laptop. It took an agonizingly long time to boot up and catch its weak satellite signal. Alfred jumped at every sound that didn't originate from the buzzing machine. He drummed his fingers against the table and did not look at the window. He didn't think that he could take it.

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered to the camera, which sat on the table beside him. "This whole thing is insane."

The camera just winked at him, like an all-seeing eye. With a cherry tone, the computer announced his returned to the internet. There was only one page that needed loading this time. His post listed several responses.

Alfred scanned the page, his eyebrows knitting further together with each new bit of information. There was a strange term here, one he had not heard before. He licked his lips and tried it out for himself. "The Slender Man?"

There were eight posts inquiring after his photo. Three congratulated him on a truly haunting bit of photoshop; one claimed it spooked him enough to cause insomnia and another wondered just what was going on. The rest were various message board regulars, trying to explain the Slender Man's origins from the depths of the internet, starting with the first manipulated pictures and growing into a much-debated and ever-evolving myth.

Alfred absorbed it all, then sank back into his chair, hardly able to believe his own thoughts.

"It's a story," he said out loud. "A fucking story."

An old memory prickled at the back of his mind, but it was hardly a brush of presence and quickly died away. Alfred put his head on the table and rubbed his temples. Stories had put fear into him before. Movies sent him crawling into others' beds and Arthur's paranormal stories – carelessly left about the house during his childhood – traumatized him even to this day. But the fear they instilled always subsided and, by the next morning, he knew better. It was just his imagination. It had to be.

"A story," he repeated, forcing a laugh. "It's just a story."

He ran a hand across his face and sighed through his nose. "Some hero I am," he muttered, "scared by a made-up monster and some photoshopped internet stills. Fan-freaking-tastic."

He picked up his camera and headed for the door, fingering the iron key in his pocket. He was not afraid. He could not be afraid. A hero could not be afraid of imaginary creatures like this.

Besides, he had a lens to find.

**Part Six: Clearing**

He couldn't find the lens.

Alfred's head spun at the thought. He had a good sense of direction, especially when exploring the wild, but he couldn't find the clearing where he had left the lens. He couldn't even find the rabbit borough, or their tracks or any signs of animal life at all – the entire forest felt unfamiliar to him now, frozen, still and dead.

Fear took hold again, icy and sudden like the wind that poured down his spine. Alfred tugged his jacket closer and broke into a jog, pushing through the trees with all his might. They seemed to close in on him now, like sentient creatures. It was growing dark.

Dark…

He'd been through dark woods before, so long ago, when the branches had torn his thin clothes and the roots cut deep into his tiny toddler's feet. He knew woods, back then, but only his own – and he had wandered too far north, into his brother's lands. There were creatures here, in these trees, following him, stalking him, hunting him…

A branch caught the collar of his jacket, startling him back into reality. Alfred yelped, struck out with his arms and snapped the attacker clean in two. He stumbled forward, batting at his neck with one hand and swiveling the camera to see behind him with the other.

"A tree," he sighed, stepping away from the roots and into a clearing. "It's just a fucking…tree…"

The words trailed away as he turned the camera ahead of him once more. Through its sight, he realized that he was not alone.

A slender man in a coal-black suit stood in the center of the clearing.

His back was turned to Alfred, giving full view of his completely bald white head, which gleamed high above the grass like a beacon in the night. Everything about him seemed stretched, as though he'd been the victim of a malicious taffy pull. He stood unnaturally still, as though he needn't even breathe.

Alfred found himself frozen, unable to pull his eyes or his camera from the figure and the woods. The common sense portions of his mind shrieked in protest – this couldn't be real, there was no way, oh god, he had to get out of here – but his body would not respond to their pleas.

He and the Slender Man were alone.

The monster began to turn.

Slowly, as though moved only by the wind, he moved. He looked to America. Alfred bit his tongue. The monster before him had no face.

A second after this was realized, the Slender Man attacked.

_TBC…_


	3. 3

My apologies for no update yesterday. Long story short, I was lazy.

_**Disclaimer: **__Still, I do not own_.

**Slender**

**Part Seven: Chase**

The Slenderman lunged but only his top half moved, snapping forward like a dancing wind puppet from hell. His too-long arms dragged along the ground like dead snakes, twisting and writhing in his wake. He bore no mouth, yet a howl roared on the wind, deep and loud and terrible.

Alfred snapped out of his trance just in time to dodge the blow, throwing himself to the side. His shoulder dug deep into the soft earth, yanking painfully at the muscles within. Alfred rolled to his feet, clutched the strained arm and ran.

Or at least, he tried to – he'd barely gone three steps before his left foot was yanked out from beneath him, sending him to the ground. An oil-black tentacle bound his ankle in a death grip. The Slenderman leered at him without eyes, dragging him back a few painful feet.

Alfred twisted, rolled and kicked at the tentacle with all his strength. Something within it burst beneath his heel. The Slenderman shrieked and yanked the limb away.

Alfred scrambled, first to his hands and knees, then to his feet, taking off into the forest at a full clip. His heart pounded in the space above his tonsils. He had no idea where he was, but the trees rustled in his wake, heralding the monster, he couldn't stop. His feet carried him onward.

With a startled cry, he burst from the trees. This clearing was not like the other, it was unnatural, forged by human hands. There was dirt beneath his feet, packed and solid – a road. There, at the end, was the cabin. His salvation.

Not daring to glance back, Alfred scrambled for the key. The rough iron scraped painfully against his hyper-sensitive skin, but at least he had a good grip. He slammed against the door, unable to stop otherwise, forced opened the lock and leapt through.

For a split second, he spotted the Slenderman directly behind, darting over the brush like a demonic daddy long-legs, his stick-thin form lurching on the support of a dozen oily tendrils. Then he slammed the door and threw himself against it for extra support.

The door leapt on its hinges with an echoing crash. Something scraped at the windows on either side. Then, there was silence.

**Part Eight: Camera**

He still had the camera.

In all of the chaos and fear, the little device had somehow clung to his hand with its cloth strap and came out in tact despite all his scrambling. Now, locked in the heart of the cabin, it was Alfred's only companion.

"He's still out there." He muttered to it, aiming the lens at the window across the room. As if on cue, the Slenderman slunk past, like a normal person in a Halloween mask, peering without eyes. Alfred shuddered and ducked behind the wall. "Damn, but I wish this place had more curtains."

He turned the camera around to face him, frowning in the orange light of the setting sun. "I don't even know if any of this footage is going to come out. God knows he's fucked up every other shot I've taken somehow. But I don't have a choice. I can't leave – he's everywhere. And if he gets me…this tape will be the only clue. It's all I have."

He raked a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and set the camera aside. He rubbed his aching right shoulder and heaved a heavy sigh.

"The internet's a bust. I think he killed the lights somehow. The phone still works, but who am I going to call for this? Even England wouldn't believe me."

He shuddered at the thought of his former guardian, smiling so kindly as he lied. Had he known of the stories, of the beasts that hunted man while he returned to his foreign home; or was it European ignorance that held his tongue?

Alfred pushed the thoughts from his mind and stumbled to his feet. He went upstairs, hoping for a bird's-eye view, but the Slenderman was there, lurking in the window. Alfred sneered at it in disgust, ancient curses dancing upon his tongue. Beast. Demon. Flesh-eater. Abomination.

The Slenderman cocked his head to the side like a curious child. Alfred swore beneath his breath and sank against the wall.

Suddenly, the Slenderman turned, staring intently to his right, away from the house. Then he was gone, lurching through the shadows with unnatural speed.

Alfred went to the window. He craned his head and strained his eyes. A familiar red-and-white SUV was rumbling up the dirt road.

Alfred's heart stopped.

_Mattie_

He lunched across the hall, into Matthew's room, and leapt over the bed. He snatched the landline from the nightstand, jabbing at the ancient buttons. He prayed that the cell phone signals still worked.

Two agonizing rings later, his call was answered. "'Ello."

"Mattie! Don't get out of the car!"

"Eh? Alfred?"

Alfred scrambled for a hold on the plastic receiver, but his sweaty palms did not make that easy. "Mattie, buddy, you have to listen to me! Don't get out of the car! Turn around, get the hell out of here, whatever you have to do, just don't get out of the car!"

"Don't get…the hell, Alfred? What's gotten into you? Is this some kind of joke?"

"It's not a joke!" Alfred wailed, hearing the engine come to a stop on the other end of the line. "He's coming for you!"

"Who's coming, eh…?"

There was a thump as a car door swung open. Matthew gasped. The line went dead.

**Part Nine: Rescue**

"Mattie? Mattie!" Alfred shouted into the receiver, but there was no reply, not even a dial tone. He swore, dropped the phone and raced to the window.

The stretched, dark figure looked over his helpless brother, surrounded by an aura of writhing, slithering tentacles. Matthew stood stock-still, his head turned to gaze up at the beast. His eyes were so wide that Alfred could see the whites, even at this distance. The Slenderman was closing in.

Alfred leapt down the stairs. He slid into the kitchen, seized a clever and a carving knife and stuffed them both into his belt. Then, he snatched the kitchen table – a cheap IKEA thing with a wobbly leg – in one hand and grabbed the key for the door. He had to break the table's legs to get it through, but he was so determined to rescue his brother that he hardly noticed.

The Slenderman was so engrossed in his bizarre work that he didn't notice Alfred until the nation was upon him. By then, it was too late.

From point-blank range and with every ounce of his unique strength, Alfred launched the table at the monster like a missile. It struck the Slenderman head-on, flinging him across the field. Matthew swayed and fell. Alfred dived to catch him.

"Mattie!" he gasped, shaking him. Matthew's head lolled on his neck. His eyes were stretched wide, their irises diluted to violet pinpricks. He did not respond.

Alfred clung to him, slapping his cheek in gentle, rapid succession. "Mattie, _Mattie_. Please, wake up, speak to me bro, please."

Nothing. Not even a blink.

The horrible, low shriek from nowhere echoed once more in Alfred's mind. The Slenderman was uncurling from the snow, all of his joints and bones crackling like sparklers.

Alfred ripped his eyes from the horrible sight, sweeping Matthew up and depositing him in the passenger seat of the SUV. Alfred leapt behind the wheel, slammed the door and realized that something was missing.

"Keys!" he swore, patting down the wheel. "Where are the blasted keys?!"

He searched the dashboard, center console, cup holders and glove compartment without success. A dark tentacle scraped the rear windshield, leaving a deep gash in the glass. Alfred swore and flipped open the sun visor. Nothing. "Dammit! That always works in the movies!"

He ruffled through Matthew's hoodie and jeans, but found no trace of keys. Just as he reached for the floor, the drivers-side door – which had been locked, he knew it had been locked! – was flung open into the darkness.

The Slenderman's tentacles dragged his mockery of the human form to its feet, clinging to the inside of the car. His featureless head rolled on his neck. He lunged.

Alfred leapt, vaulting over his brother and flinging open the passenger-side door. He snatched Matthew like a doll and raced for the house, hearing the SUV rattle with their pursuer's rage. With phantom touches scraping his neck, Alfred jumped through the open door. He slammed it behind them and something caught.

Two tentacles were squished between the now-locked door and its frame. Despite the entrapment, they still groped for the pair of nations insistently.

Alfred dropped Matthew and snatched the cleaver from his belt. With an animalistic cry, he sliced into the weak points where the mandibles were caught and pressed thin, slicing the tips away from their bodies. The groping tentacles fell to the ground and evaporated like shadows in the night.

There was a high-pitched shriek, which rattled Alfred's brain in its skull. Then, everything was still.

Alfred dropped the cleaver and sank to the floor. His body felt weak, sapped of the adrenaline that had carried him to Matthew's aid. He could barely move now. He trembled, as unsteady as a newborn kitten.

Voiceless, he crawled to his prone brother's side. Matthew had not moved from where he had been dropped. His too-wide eyes refused to close.

"Oh, Mattie," Alfred moaned, cradling his brother like a child. "Mattie, Mattie, oh god."

Outside, he heard grass rustling without footsteps. The Slenderman had returned to his silent patrol. Alfred closed his eyes and lay against the wall. Though the night had only begun, he prayed with all his being only for morning's swift return.

**Part Ten: Plot**

"That thing did something to Mattie."

Alfred heaved a heavy sigh, wiping a hand across his face and rubbing his eyes. He settled Texas back into its rightful spot and stared into the dark lens of the camera.

"I don't know what it was. He won't move. He won't speak. He won't even close his eyes. He's breathing, though – I guess that's something. But I don't think…I can't fix this. I'm a goddamn hero, and I can't even fix this stupid…!"

He trailed off, the sounds dying in his throat. He glanced back at the living room, where he had left Matthew unmoving on the couch. That was the only room on the first floor that had curtains. At least there that thing wouldn't be looming over him all the time…

He turned back to the camera.

"I have to get him out of here. If I can I get him somewhere…anywhere else, maybe one of the others…Arthur or Yao or, or hell, Kiku's into this freaky stuff…maybe they can fix this. Maybe they can fix him. But at least we won't be around that thing anymore. We just have to get past him. Okay, just…think, Al. You can work this out."

Another heavy sigh and a long moment of silence passed. Outside, the long grass rustled in the wake of movement without footsteps. Alfred made a point of not looking at the window.

"Okay. Okay, so…I know the knife hurt it. At least, it cut those tentacle things off, so that counts as hurting it, right? And the table…I hit it with a goddamn table and it just pulled itself together. So. So beating it up's not going to work, but maybe if I cut it…Matt's got a lot of knives in the kitchen. He has to, Francis always gives a big set as housewarming presents. If go at him with those, maybe…maybe I can beat him down."

He thought for a moment, then set down the camera and went to the kitchen. In the cabinet, he found what he was looking for – a lovely set of French carving knives in a hand-carved wooden block. Behind it, he also found a large lighter, the kind used for starting barbeques, and decided to bring it along as well.

He returned to the camera, sitting on the floor outside the dark living room, and lay out his spoils in silence. Some of the knives were too small, but the rest were large and well-preserved. He selected as many as would fit safely in his right pocket, wrapped protectively in cloth napkins, and contemplated the lighter.

"…There's always the gas in the car," he decided. He didn't know where the keys were, anyway. If all else failed he could carry Matthew away after the creature was destroyed.

He slipped the lighter into his left pocket, left the remaining knives on the coffee table and moved to the window. He couldn't see the Slenderman in the darkness, yet, but he knew it was there. It was waiting for him, for them, for its chance. It would be there all night, and well into the morning, he knew.

"I can't wait until the sun comes up," he muttered to the camera. "For all I know, this thing on Mattie's getting worse. He might not have the time. I can't risk waiting. I won't lose him."

He went back to the camera and knelt to peer into its lens. "If this is all you guys find after this…I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't enough of a hero. But I have to at least try. I need to get Mattie home."

He picked up the last of the large knives and stood, testing its weight in his hands. All he needed now was the key. He turned away from the camera.

Then something struck him from behind.

Alfred's mind spun like the contents of a clothes drier. He fell forward, hit the wall and felt his forward connect. A second later another hard blow burst across the base of his skull, slamming his forehead into the plaster. A crack split across Texas's left lens. Alfred's legs buckled and his limbs gave way. As he slid down the wall, he saw a trail of blood left in his wake.

He turned, his vision already swimming, to face his attacker. The darkness of the cabin was closing in from all angles. He sank, boneless, to the floor.

He saw Matthew's smile.

And then he knew no more.

_**TBC…**_


	4. 4

_**Disclaimer: **__Still not mine. I just think the pages look funny if you don't have something up here. _

**Slender**

**Part Eleven: Past**

Dark. Cold. Strange. Oh god.

Alfred ran.

The trees loomed around him and seemed to close in on all sides, blocking all chance of escape. Alfred's tiny, bare feet were scraped raw against the jagged earth and burned with pain each time an exposed root dug into the exposed flesh. He covered his ears and ran without guidance, calling for Brother or Big Sister or England or anyone.

With a laugh that raked the sky like glass against polished stone, something struck him from behind. Alfred cried out and was flung, head-first, into a tree. Stunned he, feel to the ground. His heart roared in his ears.

Then, the Wendigo was upon him.

It straddled the child nation like a spider looming over its prey. Its bony fingers and splintered nails dug deep into Alfred's shoulder, pinning him into the soft, cold earth of his brother's home. Its bloody, tattered lips pulled back in savage imitation of a smile, revealing yellow teeth that only barely clung to putrid, rotting gums. Its breath carried only the disgusting smell of rotted meat. Its body smelled of death.

"Leeeetle one," it hissed, rattling his throat. "Sweeeeet little one. So juicy and warm…"

What little remained of Alfred's courage shattered in the face of this demon. He shrieked and scrambled for release, but the Wendigo was too strong, even for him.

His assailant licked its tattered lips with a tongue as sharp as a newly-forged hatchet. It leaned down and licked a line of blood from Alfred's shoulder. "Sweeet…"

Alfred screamed and flailed his limbs in a desperate struggle for freedom. The Wendigo pinned him at the elbows and knees, undoing its jaw as it craned forward for its first huge, corrosive mouthful of flesh.

Then a voice, loaded with power and affection, sliced through the dream like an arrow.

**Part Twelve: Present**

"Ah, good. You're awake."

Pain. Alfred's head pounded as thought locked in a vice. His shoulders screamed in protest. His neck muscles felt almost torn. There was blood dripping into his left eye.

He lifted his head. He was in the living room, propped in – no, bound to, with bike chains and tempered rope – a kitchen chair. The curtains were open. The Slenderman loomed just beyond the glass, framed by cool moonlight.

Matthew sat on the couch, his unnaturally calm smile a stark contrast to the Slenderman's featureless façade. His eyes were darker than they should have been, dustier and blanker than their usual rich violet. Alfred hissed low in his throat. Whoever this was talking to him now, it was not his brother.

"You've been out for quite a while, you know," the Matthew-who-was-not-Matthew said, glancing at his watch. "It's been so long, I was starting to wonder if I'd hit you too hard. Good to see that wasn't the case."

Alfred tried to speak, but all he could manage was a light growl. Not-Matthew turned his head to one side owlishly and, in the same moment, so did the Slenderman. "Not much for small talk, are you? Well, at least, you haven't been with me. That's all right. It's better to get to the point, anyway."

Matthew stood, making his way across the room with his hands folded innocently behind his back. The Slenderman loomed higher and higher at the window, always peering over Matthew's shoulder. Matthew smiled and leaned down until he was eye-to-eye with Alfred and his broken glasses. "Tell me," he said. "Where is the key?"

It took a moment for Alfred to remember what he meant. Then it hit him – the front door was still locked.

"I had Matthew here look around a bit while you were out, but this house of yours is just so big. It would be much faster if you would just tell me, don't you agree?"

Alfred turned his head away stubbornly. Matthew hummed, turning his head back upright and tapped a finger against his lips. Outside, the Slenderman mirrored the action exactly, the finger replaced by a thin black tentacle.

"Not telling, eh? I suppose that can't be helped. It seemed rude to search your clothes while you were asleep, but since that's not an issue now…"

A hand wiggled into Alfred's pocket, causing the southern nation to jump. The bike chain bruised his arms. He winced. Matthew's hand slipped into his other pocket, and another into his jacket, pawing the fabric like a cat urging a mouse from beneath a sheet. Alfred grit his teeth and hissed a few pained protests. They came out as moans.

Matthew clicked his tongue and pouted, looking disturbingly like Francis for a few startling seconds. "Really, Alfred, making such noises at your twin brother's touch. People will start to wonder about you."

He slid tauntingly closer, until he straddled Alfred's lap, his hands still hidden beneath folds of cloth. Alfred pulled back, coughing against the rough exhaustion that seemed to bind his throat, but was dragged back by Matthew's hand, cupping his cheek like a lover. There was barely room to breathe between them. Matthew's eyelids batted coquettishly. Then, suddenly, turned away, dragging Alfred's face to follow. "Smile for the camera, brother dear."

The red light of his camcorder blinked back at him from a bookshelf perch not far away. Alfred was hypnotized by its haunting, familiar rythmn. Matthew – not-Matthew – took the opportunity to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Alfred jerked back, yanked his head away from the beast in his brother's body, and managed to form words among his next growl. "You're a sick fuck."

"No surprise, given where I was born," his twisted reflection retorted. He frowned as his roaming hands came away from their search without result. "Hm. So you didn't have it with you. Unfortunate." He looked to Alfred again, violet eyes hauntingly bright. "Are you going to tell me now?"

Alfred licked his lips. "I swallowed it."

"Is that so?"

Matthew's eyes darkened considerably. His hand scurried along Alfred's waist, tracing the path of his belt until it reached his back. From there he drew the carving knife that Alfred had stashed, bringing it around to flash in the moonlight.

"Then I suppose I'll have to get it for myself."

Matthew's fingers curled in Alfred's hair, pulling his head back until the tension stretched from his neck through his shoulders and down into his gut. The other hand lowered until the knife[''s blade rested upon Alfred's stomach. The sharp edge could be felt easily through the thin cloth of his t-shirt.

"I could do it, you know," he said casually. "You two are so much sturdier than the humans I've had before. I bet I could slice you wide open and play all my favorite games and still keep your yummy souls intact without even trying."

He paused, thoughtful, then giggled in twisted delight. Outside, the Slenderman bobbed and weaved, almost dancing. "This, this will be so much fun. I won't have to be careful at all, and I can do anything. Anything!"

Alfred grit his teeth. Pull back like this, the only way he could see was below the edge of his glasses, where his vision blurred. It made it easier to believe that this wasn't Mattie, his dear brother, who was about to gut him like one of Kiku's fish. It was only a monster.

"Do it then," he growled. "You won't get anything from it."

Matthew's head turned at that, a brief flash of surprise flickering across his face. The Slenderman stopped dancing. Violet eyes faded back into dusky shadows, and Matthew's voice dipped into a dangerously low register. "So you lied to me."

Alfred gave his best shit-eating grin and stuck out his tongue. "Sorry to bust your bubble."

Not-Matthew hissed and drove the knife, point-first, into Alfred's leg. Alfred bit his tongue, strangling a cry of pain even as the blade was turned.

"You're not playing fair, Alfred," Not-Matthew growled, sounding nothing like the northern nation America held so dear. "Not fair at all."

"And you are?" Alfred snarled through his teeth. He bit off another cry as the knife was yanked free.

The blood-stained blade was lifted and Matthew's tongue ran across it, lapping up the blood. He took a breath through his nose and brought the knife to Alfred's throat. "At this rate," he hissed, "Matthew will have all of my fun for me."

Alfred's stomach did somersaults. His head was released, but the knife kept him from relaxation. "What did you do to him?"

A foul grin slid across Matthew's face. "Guess."

"You son of a –"

"Uh-uh-uh." The knife pressed closer to the exposed flesh. "You'll find out soon enough. Once you give me the key."

Alfred nearly laughed in spite of himself, the panic and fear stewing together in his stomach. "You really think I'm gonna tell you that?"

"You'll tell me," Not-Matthew said with confidence, sliding the blade up Alfred's throat. "Or I'll start with your ears. I'll whittle them down until you can't even hear your own screams. Or maybe I'll open you up and rearrange all the parts inside, ooh, I always like that game. Or maybe…"

The hand that was not occupied ran up Alfred's face, settling on Texas's frames. It alighted there for only a moment, like a bird upon its perch, then both glasses and knife were thrown away. Matthew's nails dug into the flesh on either side of Alfred's head, his snarling face centimeters away.

"Or maybe, maybe, I'll tear out those pretty eyes of yours with my bare hands. I'll do it real slow, stripping away every last bit of skin until they come out whole, like a pair of pealed grapes. And when I've got them, I'll give you just long enough to think through the pain before I crush them. And then…" a disgusting smile crawled across Matthew's face like a worm through mud. "Then, I'll give you back your precious brother. What do you think dear Matthew will do then, when he feels your juices on his hands and sees your empty sockets and knows everything he's done, hm? Maybe he'll go insane. I like it when they do that."

He laughed out loud, a high-pitched and horrible sound, raking his nails across Alfred's eyelids. "Yes, I like that plan! Let's get started, Mattie dear, we'll peal the left one out first –"

"STOP IT!"

Alfred jerked backwards so violent that the chair's back leg shattered, sending him to the floor. Not-Mattie was thrown off with a surprised cry, rolling to his hands and knees a second later. Alfred lay on the floor, the broken chair still bound to him, and pressed his head into the carpet.

"Okay," he gasped, opening his eyes. "I'll give you the key. Just let Mattie go."

Not-Mattie, still crouched on the floor like a feral beast, turned his head in confusion.

Alfred took a deep breath, smothering a sob. "I'll get the key, and you can have me. I won't fight or run anymore. Just promise that you'll let Mattie go and you can do anything you want to me. Just please." 

**Part Thirteen: The End**

Not-Matthew crawled closer, looming like a churchyard gargoyle. He leaned close enough that Alfred could see him, even without the glasses. He flashed a devious little grin.

"I think," he said, "that we have a deal."

Not-Matthew reached again for the knife. Alfred flinched, but the blade did not pierce his skin. Instead, it came around to saw through the tempered ropes that bound the bike chains into place. With a bull and a snap, the bindings fell to the floor.

Alfred moaned, writing on the carpet and curling around the stab wound in his leg. His palms came away wet.

"You're lucky the carpet is dark," Not-Mattie quipped. He sat between Alfred and the window, resting on his heels. The dark figure of his Slender puppet-master loomed in the background.

Alfred uncurled, searching blindly with his hands. He found and pushed Texas back into place. Matthew's twisted grin came into focus, as did the blank white gaze of the Slenderman. They stared at him with identical auras of anticipation and expectation. It made Alfred's heart ache.

He hoisted himself from the floor, found the camera and lifted it into his grip. Its friendly light blinked at him like an old friend. He took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen.

The key rested right where he had left it, below the cabinet that had contained the knives. It burned his hand as thought newly-forged. He clutched it to his chest and held his camera almost as close. Not-Matthew hovered in the door, smiling all the way. Alfred pushed past without looking at him, heading for the front door.

He turned the camera to face him, staring into the endless orb of its lens. "Well," he said. "This is it, I guess."

Something prickled in the back of his mind, an ancient memory brushing like a feather against his mind. He stepped in the front hall and tried to reach for its meaning.

Matthew's voice interrupted him. "What are you doing?"

Alfred shook himself. The feeling was gone. "Nothing."

"Stalling for time?" Matthew's voice was bright, but also laced with a dangerous undertone.

Alfred shuddered. "Of course not."

He continued on his way to the door. It took much too long, not long enough, to undo the ancient lock. Each piston seemed to fall into place individually , rattling about in the knob. Alfred's hands shook. Matthew – Not-Matthew – breathed down the back of his neck.

Finally, the door swung open.

The Slenderman stood on the porch, towering above Alfred like a tree from the woods. He loomed and though his face was featureless, seemed to laugh in delight. His blank face slid inches from Alfred's own. He smelled like dust burning off an unused processor, cold shadows on an icy night and blood. It was not a scent of raw horror, nor of sickness or rotting meat. It was a scent of pure, modern fear.

And yet, Alfred remembered.

His eyes widened, but that was the only way his body betrayed his knowledge. He clutched the camera and leaned against the door to keep it open.

"Okay" he said. "I'm here. Now let Mattie go."

The Slenderman rolled his head to the side. A _thump_ echoed from the hall.

Alfred wheeled around. Matthew lay crumpled on the floor, like an abandoned coat. His eyes were blissfully closed.

"Mattie!" Alfred gasped, and tried to hurry to his brother's side, but an icy tentacle slung across his shoulders to hold him back. Slowly, Alfred turned and gazed up into the Slenderman's non-existent face. "Okay. I get it."

The Slenderman nodded, sliding his tentacle away. Alfred lifted the camera to record himself once more.

"Well, this is it. All stories have to come to an end, right?" he sighed. "I haven't even looked at this footage. It's been running for hours, recording every second of this insanity and it's not even hot. So, thanks Kiku. Your stuff really is the best in the world."

He glanced at the Slenderman. Despite the impossibility of the action the monster seemed to grin.

"Of course, for all I know, this video's been corrupted just like all the others. I haven't even been bale to back it all up. My whole record of this crazy-ass thing is contained in this camera, and it might not even come out. Of course, that's a story in itself, ain't it? Maybe somebody else – Iggy or somebody – will start poking around when I don't show up for the next meeting. They'll find this tape and, well, something will make it through."

The odd feeling of the Slenderman's smile grew sharper, as though the grin were spreading across his non-existent face. Alfred tightened his grip.

"I don't want anyone to look for me. This thing is too dangerous for that. It shouldn't even exist. That's why…

"That's why I'm going to destroy this tape."

The Slenderman jerked, but his reaction was too slow to stop Alfred from digging his hands into the plastic with all his strength. A _crack_ echoed through the trees as the lens cracked down the center. The Slenderman shrieked his unnatural cry reared back on his tentacles and tried to pull Alfred with him. Alfred dug in his heels and tightened his grip crushing the camera as though it were an empty soda can.

"I've figured you out, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, pulling against the dark tentacles. "You hear me? I've figured you out!"

Another crack echoed through the night and Slenderman howled. His tentacles writhed and snapped, striking Alfred across the shoulders, head, neck, face.

Alfred stood his ground, steeled his shoulders against the fury and brought the camera down to smash against his knee. In his ear whispered a voice, familiar and strong, the voice of she who had saved him from the Wendigo so long ago: _"I banish you, fear, to the shadows of our lands!"_

Alfred glared at the Slenderman, pulled his arm free and reached into his pocket for the barbeque lighter. "I heard about your kind, once. You come from stories, from the things that people make up to scare each other. You make yourselves real because of that fear. But _you_, you only exist because someone made pictures. Without those pictures – _these_ pictures – you have no story, and without a story, _you have no power._"

He snapped the barbeque lighter to life and pushed the delicate, already ruined machinery deep into the flame. Silicon component shrieked, popped and burst in the heat. Grey tongues of smoke licked at the sky and the scent of burning plastic filled the air.

The Slenderman shrieked, leaping back with his tentacles' support and shooting fifteen, twenty feet into the air. He seemed smaller now, but fiercer, desperate to stay alive.

Alfred threw the camera and the source of its fire as far away from the house as he could. The Slenderman dove after it and was instantly eaten by the night. Alfred leapt into the house.

The heavy oaken door slammed shut, cutting off the Slenderman's screams like a flipped switch. Alfred huddled on the floor, clutching the unconscious Matthew, and strained his ears.

Nothing.

There was no screams, no scrapes, no rustling grass. The night beyond was silent and empty.

It was over.

Finally.

_**TBC…**_


	5. 5

_**Disclaimer: **__Still not mine. I just think the pages look funny if you don't have something up here._

**Slender**

**Epilogue**

Matthew woke at noon.

The sun shining, arching through the window in broad beams. It was warm and welcoming, heating his sheets like the napkin in a basket of bread. He lay there a moment, allowing all the details to register some sort of sense in his mind. Then he remembers, and he leapt from the bed.

"Alfred!" he shouted, grabbing the stairway banister for support. Where was he? The house was empty, oh god, what if –?

The front door thumped open and Alfred strode in, face flushed with effort. He blinked in confusion then grinned. "Oh hey, Mattie! You're awake!"

Matthew stared at his brother. He wasn't even bandaged. "Al…what are you doing?"

"Packing the car," Alfred said, hoisting a suitcase – one of Matthew's – into his grip.

"Packing the…why?"

Alfred shrugged. "This place just ain't working. No inspiration. I'm thinking I might try an urban environment, like I was telling you about last night."

"Last night?" Matthew racked his brain for the words, but all he remembered was a shadow leaping from the trees, an iron pipe in his hands, Alfred bleeding on the floor…

He padded down the stairs grabbed his brother's arm and tugged Alfred's head down where he could see it. There was no sign of clotting or scars among the golden locks. Nations healed fast, but surely…

"Um, Matt? Alfred said from under his brother's arm. "You're kinda breaking my back here."

Matthew let him go. "S-Sorry."

"No prob," Alfred grinned, adjusting his grip on the suitcase. "You had a rough night, bro. Seemed like you were having a pretty crazy dream. That's why I let you sleep in!"

A dream?

"Oh." Matthew rubbed his neck. "Um, thanks."

"Any time. Now go get dressed, 'kay? We're nearly ready to go."

"Okay."

Just a dream.

Alfred let his grin fade as his brother headed upstairs, and sighed in relief. He took a moment to check his appearance – especially the foundation on his wounded scalp – in the hallway mirror before he fished out the door key and hauled the last of their luggage outside.

Lying to Mattie made him feel a bit guilty. After everything they'd gone through, it felt wrong to dismiss it as some kind of dream, but it was too risky. Talking about it was too much like telling a story.

It took him about twenty minutes to negotiate the last of the bags around the boxes of non-perishable foods they hadn't eaten, all the while thanking heaven that he'd been able to find the keys when the snow began to melt. When he returned to the house, he found Matthew waiting with the last of his bags. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Matthew sighed, passing the bags over. "Did you already kill the generator?"

"Sure did."

Matthew pouted. "You're in such a hurry."

"Hey, I gotta chase down my inspiration!" Alfred laughed, taking the heavier of his brother's bags and leading the way outside. "Besides, I wanna see how much more awesome Vancouver's gotten since your awesome Olympics!"

That, at least, brought a smile to Matthew's face. "You'll just have to see, eh?"

Alfred grinned, tossed the car keys dramatically and strode to the driver's seat. Matthew climbed into the passenger side, buckled his seatbelt and said, "Hey, did'ja ever get a response to those pictures you made?"

"What pictures?"

"That weird Photoshop job you tried to scare me with yesterday."

Alfred froze. His eyes darted to the trees, and he could have sworn he saw a tall, dark figure standing in the shadows.

He shuddered and slammed the car door. "Let's just get out of here."

_Fin._


End file.
